Page 23 of Fatal Collision
“No.” I move my head in a slow refusal. “I’ll think of someone else.”
A low, simmering growl rumbles in his chest. “Who?”
“My boyfriend.”
I don’t have one, but it’s fun to taunt him. He makes it so enjoyable when he spits out a curse, shooting jets of hot cum all over my dress.
One thing is for sure: Kane Ravencourt isn’t wrong.I’ll fuck myself to the thought of him, just like I’ve done almost every night since that day in his father’s office. And that’s the problem. He let me explore a kink that would make most men shy away. Now I want more. Kane might as well pierce a squirming worm on a hook and toss it into the lake. It’s only a matter of time before I bite. And he knows it.
EIGHT
JESSICA
I’m on my bed, watching a TV show, when my sister raps her knuckles on the door and pops her head inside. “Knock, knock.”
Summer opens the door farther and walks in.
“Everything okay? You seemed distracted at dinner.” She shuts the door then sits on the edge of the bed, and I close my laptop, patting the space next to me.
“Ever done something you shouldn’t have done?” I ask when she joins me.
She tucks her curly hair behind her ear. “I mean, maybe, I guess.”
A weak smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, and I rest my head on her shoulder. My sister is too good for this world. She isn’t broken like me. She doesn’t get off on taking control and forcing men to submit.
Ever since I returned home, I’ve cringed every time I think back on what I did to Kane.It was hot, but he must think I have a screw loose. Because who does that? Who points a gun at someone and tells them to jerk off? And why do I want to do it again?
“Did something happen?” Summer asks, her voice filled with concern.
“No.” My head shakes softly. “Nothing happened.”
Interlacing our fingers, she rests her temple on mine. “I went to see Mom today.”
My throat clogs up, and I clear it. I visit our mom almost every day, but a certain someone distracted me today, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
On the one hand, Mom won’t notice my absence because of how progressed her illness is. But on the other hand, guilt still gnaws at me. I shouldn’t get distracted. I should be there.
“How was she?”
“She was sleeping,” Summer says quietly, tracing my fingers. “The nurse explained that the new medication is making her sleepy.”
My nose pricks, and I wiggle it as tears start to burn.
Summer stays silent, but I can hear her smile when she finally says, “Remember the time Mom made a fort in the yard out of blankets and cushions, and we camped for the night?”
Those were happier times. If only I had a time machine that could take me back.
“I was upset that we couldn’t afford a tent.” I wipe away a stray tear. “Madison had told everyone about her amazing camping trip with her family, and I wanted usto do the same: sleep beneath the stars, light a campfire, burn marshmallows.”
“Instead, she got us one of those disposable barbecues, and Chris almost set fire to the fort trying to light it.”
“Dad was drunk that night, remember?”
“I remember. He smacked Mom because she forgot to pick up more beer.” She falls silent.
“She didn’t forget,” I murmur. “She just didn’t want him drinking in the house.”
Summer steers us back to happier memories. “My favorite part was when Chris ate so many marshmallows that he was sick for hours.”
